Rainy Days
by Shrrgnien
Summary: Rain can destroy, and it can bring new life. Demeter struggles through a week of rainy days and sunlit mornings as she and her daughter try to reconcile their differences, learn what it really means to love, and discover how similar they truly are.
1. Thunder

_Sunday Prompt: Must be set in their owners' house._

**Thunder**

Demeter hated thunderstorms.

She'd never told anyone why, and they assumed it was just her natural skittish tendencies playing up. After all, even Alonzo didn't like thunder.

_Even Macavity didn't like thunder,_ she thought, flinching closer to Bomba's side. The scarlet queen was sound asleep, easy and untroubled, and Demeter tried not to resent it. It wasn't Bomba's fault that Demeter couldn't help but see every flash of lightning as _his_…wasn't her fault that even Macavity didn't like thunder, that whenever it struck he would find other ways to pass the day rather than brave the storm…wasn't Bomba's fault that unlike Demeter, she could just _forget it_ and move on, could _sleep right through-_

_What was that?_

A foolish thought, born of anxiety and nothing else. Of course, the flash of lightning had illuminated the human tom's trousers, lying abandoned on the floor, but that knowledge did nothing to calm Demeter's suddenly pounding heart. Her claws were out, digging into Bomba's nest; her fur was standing on end, and when another peal of thunder crashed through the house, it was enough to send the black-and-gold tabby shooting across the room and out the open door.

When she was halfway down the hallway, Demeter regretted ever leaving Bombalurina's side. What little light could find its way through the downstairs windows glinted strangely off the portraits on the walls. A new, low rumble made the walls shake slightly. Demeter was about to turn and go back to her sister when she heard a dull clink just behind her, like the jingle of cat tags. With a yowl of terror, she bolted for the stairs, taking them three at a time, only pausing when some part of her brain, one that wasn't overrun by panic, registered the fact that the radiator upstairs always clinked and that Macavity didn't wear a collar, let alone tags. But the fear, the fear he caused was too strong, and she couldn't help but think _it might have been him._

It wouldn't have been the first time. It was like a game for him, at first; he would leave a door open, seemingly by accident; he would let his henchcats be overheard saying he was going to be away. Then, just when she thought she'd made it, when she was almost free, he was there. He was _always_ there, the moment she let her guard down for an instant. She would hear a sound and glance over her shoulder, and then when she turned forward again she found herself inches from his chest; or else she would relax, thinking that this time, this time they were really free, and suddenly there would be a sharp blow, three new slashes along her shoulder, a tail twining forcefully around hers, and he would be backing her into a corner, hissing in her ear. "Blind as a kit, Demeter, or did you think it would be that easy? And here I thought all cats could see in the dark."

Eventually, they'd stopped trying to escape.

It had taken Jerrie and Teazer weeks to convince the trapped queens that they were telling the truth about rescuing them…and even then, even after they were safe in the Junkyard, even _now,_ some part of Demeter still expected to be stopped, still expected to look up and see the figure of-

"HOLY HEAVISIDE!"

There was an answering yowl from the other side of the kitchen window as the dark figure of the cat who had been perched on the sill toppled backwards. There was a loud splash, and through the smothering panic Demeter felt a small thread of vindictive pleasure. _About time someone gave that fleabag a bath,_ the small part of her mind thought. The more dominant part of her mind, however, was thinking something more along the lines of _Oh, Bast, Everlasting Cat help me I can't go back, I won't, he'll kill me and I know it but oh, Bast, I can't go back…_

"Dem?" came a sleepy murmur from the upstairs hallway. "Wha's going on?"

Demeter didn't answer; her gaze was locked on the window, eyes stretched wide in terror. When the dark cat began to drag itself back onto the window sill, however, she found her voice. "Bomba!" she yowled. "Run! It's…" She frowned.

"…_Munkustrap?"_

It was hard to see through the rain outside, until another flash of lightning lit up the silver tabby's dripping fur. He opened his mouth to say something, but a particularly violent roll of thunder drowned out the words.

Panic forgotten, Demeter jumped up on her side of the glass. "What?" she called.

"I said _let me in!"_

"Right. Sorry."

A few moments later, a very wet tomcat was squeezing his way through the window. "Thanks for that," he panted, leaping to the floor. A puddle of water quickly spread around him.

"Munk!" Demeter gasped, standing on the window frame to close it again. "What are you _doing_ here?"

"Thunderstorm," he said simply, dipping his head towards the window. He paused, fluffing out his fur in a vain attempt to dry it. "I thought maybe I'd offer some…" Shake. "…Emotional support. Bast in Heaviside!" he exclaimed. "I've had _baths_ that haven't gotten me this wet!"

Laughing, Demeter nuzzled him, pulling back when he shook himself wildly, almost like a Pollicle, scattering droplets around the dark kitchen.

"I give up," he muttered, licking his paw morosely.

"I'm sure Dem would be more than happy to help you warm up." Bombalurina called down from the landing, wearing a smirk worthy of her mate. "Oh, don't look at me like that, Dem. For your information, I was referring to the towel over the radiator. What_ever_ did you think I meant?" Tossing a saucy wink over her shoulder, the red queen trotted back down the upstairs hallway, tail held jauntily high.

Demeter glared after her.

Munkustrap gave a courteous cough, sounding slightly embarrassed and extremely cold. "Not to impose," he said, trying to find a way to press into Demeter's warm side without getting her wet, "But if there really _is_ a towel over the radiator…"

Demeter's lips twitched. "We could always use Bomba's option," she said teasingly.

Munkustrap leaned in conspirationally. "I'm a bit damp," he informed her, twitching his ear to flick the rain out of it.

Demeter delicately licked a single drop off the end of his whisker. "I noticed," she told him. Before he could respond, she closed the distance between them and kissed him.

The house quite literally shook under the loudest crash yet, but Demeter barely flinched.

Maybe this whole thunderstorm thing wasn't so bad, after all.


	2. Clashing

_Monday Prompt: Somewhere use the words "right as rain"._

**Clashing**

Demeter gave a small sigh, nuzzling deeper into the soft fur at her side. Sleeping in was a rare treat; Munkustrap was usually up at the crack of dawn, running things in the Junkyard. This morning, however, her mate's breathing was still quiet and even. She felt a soft purr of pleasure rumble in her chest. Munk deserved this once in a while; a chance to just relax, curl up in a warm nest and sleep…

"Munk! You here?" called a familiar voice from downstairs.

Demeter frowned, eyes still closed. Maybe, she thought hopefully, if she just ignored Alonzo, he would go away.

"Munk!" called the voice again, louder this time. "Munk! We found Jemima!"

"You _what_?" Demeter sat bolt upright, forgetting for a moment that she was sleeping under a radiator. "OW!"

There was a sound of pattering footsteps as Alonzo raced up the steps. "There you are!" he exclaimed. Munkustrap, who had jolted awake at Demeter's screech, rubbed his head and glared at Alonzo irritably. The bicolored tom paused, taking the formerly cozy couple in properly for the first time. "Oh," he said, a small smirk fighting at the corner of his mouth. "Sorry, Munk. Am I interrupting something? I can come back-"

"Never mind," Demeter said impatiently. "What did you say about Jemima? Found her how? Where was she?"

Alonzo blinked, glancing between her and Munkustrap. "He didn't tell you?"

Munkustrap's tail lashed angrily. "There was nothing to tell," he said, clearly fighting to keep his voice calm. "Jemima knew there was going to be a thunderstorm, and she's not a kitten; she's perfectly within her rights to go moon-gazing, if that's what she wants to do. I knew she would be fine, thus there was no need to worry. _Or_ to worry her mother," he added pointedly.

"Wait a minute!" Demeter exclaimed. "Our daughter went missing in a thunderstorm and you never _told_ me?" To Alonzo, she said, "Is she all right?"

The black-and-white tom dipped his head. "Of course; she's with Jenny now getting checked over. She realized pretty quickly that the storm wasn't going to blow over, so she made her way to Misto's place and spent the night." He smirked. "They insist it was a coincidence, of course, but I know _I_ wouldn't mind having a dripping-wet queen turn up in my living room on a lonely night…"

Munkustrap cleared his throat pointedly.

Alonzo coughed. "I mean, she's fine, Misto was a perfect gentleman and I'm sure he had nothing but the most innocent of thoughts about your daughter, who he hasn't been able to take his eyes off of since her first Ball, while they were huddled together under a blanket in front of a romantic blazing fireplace."

It would have been reassuring, Demeter decided, if it wasn't for the dripping sarcasm.

"She's at Jenny's?" she asked, standing up.

"Yes," said Alonzo. "Why-"

Before he could finish his question, she was gone.

* * *

When Demeter stuck her head inside Jennyanydots' den, she wasn't at all surprised by what she found.

"…Completely irresponsible," the Gumby cat scolded. "You could have been killed! Your poor mother, when she finds out…!"

"Jenny, I was fine!"

Jellylorum looked up from a corner, where she was knitting either a scarf or a very large sock. "You were _lucky,_" she retorted testily. "Dumb luck won't save you every time, Jemima."

The tiny queen hissed. "I'm not a kitten anymore, Jelly!"

"If you want us to treat you like a queen," said Jellylorum stiffly, "it's high time you started acting like one!"

Mistoffelees, who Demeter hadn't even noticed sitting silently beside Jemima, spoke up at this. "That's not fair, Jelly," he said pleadingly. "She's _always_ gone moon-gazing, you know that! She was perfectly safe last night; she just got a little wet, that's all. Etcetera gets into worse scrapes every other day! Jem was perfectly fine!"

Jennyanydots rounded on the tuxedo tom, who shrank under her stern gaze. "Don't get me started on you, young tom! Encouraging her! '_She was fine'…_Right as rain, I'm sure! A little wet, indeed…Be grateful she didn't catch pneumonia. And count yourself lucky if I don't mention this to your uncle!"

"Mention what?" Jemima demanded angrily. Her fur was standing on end, and she made the most of her very few inches of height. "Mention that he let me in out of the rain? What's wrong with that, anyway? I fail to see what you're so upset abo-Mother!" Jemima visibly paled as she spotted Demeter hovering in the doorway. "What…what are you doing here?"

Demeter fixed a look on her daughter that was usually reserved for Mungojerrie and his misbehaving sister. "Take a wild guess," she said icily.

Jemima's eyes flashed defiantly for a moment, but then the fire seemed to drain out of her. She drooped dejectedly, tail sinking to the floor. "Sorry," she muttered, blinking rapidly. "I just…I wasn't doing anything _wrong!"_

Demeter sighed, stepping forward and licking her youngest daughter's forehead. "I know you weren't, Jem," she said, "but I worry about you. I was scared."

"You're scared of everything," Jemima snapped resentfully. She pushed past her mother without another word, but Demeter heard a desperate sob before Jemima disappeared into the Junkyard.

**A/N: For a full account of Jemima's night in the storm, see SirPrickles' "Solstice Storm".**


	3. Growth

_Tuesday Prompt: Spark word: Flowers_

**Growth**

"She'll be fine, Demeter."

Demeter looked up, some of the tension leaving her automatically at the sound of Munkustrap's voice. "How can you be so sure?"

Munkustrap smiled and rubbed along her shoulder. "She's our daughter, for one," he said, his reassuring tone edged with loving admiration. "Resilience is in her blood."

This did nothing to calm his mate's nerves. "I haven't seen her since yesterday," Demeter said worriedly. "Do you even know where she is?"

"At her owners'," Munkustrap answered promptly. "It's going to rain again today; I wouldn't be surprised if she decided to stay there." He smiled. "I think she's had her fill of rain for a while."

Demeter winced, and Munkustrap put an arm around her waist and pulled her close against his side. "Dem?" he asked. "Are you all right, love?"

Demeter nodded mechanically; Munkustrap looked skeptical. "What's wrong?" he asked gently.

Demeter looked at him, a sad sort of doubt in her eyes. "Munk?" she said hesitantly. "Do you…do you think I'm wrong, to be so worried about Jemima? I know she's an adult now, but she's still so young, and it would be so _easy_ for her to get hurt…"

Munkustrap thought it over for a few minutes, looking very serious, and Demeter knew that he was trying to answer honestly, not simply reassure her. "I don't think you're wrong to be concerned about her," he said finally. "I am, too. She's our daughter; of course we worry. I worry about Electra sometimes, and Bast knows she can take of herself! But I think you need to give credit where it's due, as well."

"How do you mean?"

Munkustrap's dark eyes were solemn as he met Demeter's gaze. "I mean that she's not a fool. Take last night, for example. Of course I was worried about her being out in that storm! But I knew that if it was me, and if I couldn't get to a house, I would find a mailbox or a porch to hide under and wait until the storm passed. And I trusted her to do the same."

Demeter nodded, relaxing more fully into his warm side. Changing the subject, Munkustrap said, "Now, Demeter, I wonder if I might make a humble request?"

Rather intrigued by the playful twinkle in her mate's eyes, Demeter replied, "Go ahead."

Sweeping into an elaborate bow, Munkustrap offered her his elbow. "I've been informed that the first flowers of spring have arrived," he said. "Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to investigate the rumor, my queen?"

Demeter laughed, worries shelved if not forgotten. "I would be delighted, sir," she replied in an excellent imitation of one of Bustopher Jones' high-society queens as she looped her arm through his. "Where shall we begin?"

Munkustrap smiled, dipping his head and kissing her briefly.

"That was good place to start, I think."

* * *

Demeter hummed to herself as she picked her way delicately around a puddle. Munkustrap had been right; the first bold wildflowers of spring had indeed sprung up seemingly overnight. The whole world seemed fresh and clean today, full of new life and possibilities, made shining and beautiful by its recent scouring. It was the first real day of spring; a day, it seemed, for love.

Munkustrap hadn't been the only one to realize that, as the two had found on their return. The whole Junkyard was full of laughter and excitement today.

Alonzo and Cassandra had spent the morning lounging under the rose bush at her owners' house, feeding each other bits of mouse. On her way back into the Junkyard, Demeter had almost tripped over Tantomile and Mungojerrie, cuddled under the eaves beside the TSE; the psychic queen had been fighting a losing battle to keep a straight face as Jerrie pulled elaborate pouts and planted teasing kisses on her ears. Coricopat was nowhere to be found; this, Demeter discovered, was due to the fact that Rumpleteazer had taken advantage of the rain to make a large number of water balloons, which she enlisted Admetus' help in dropping on Coricopat's head at every opportunity.

Bombalurina and Tugger were also missing, but Demeter had no desire to ask after _their_ activities.

The younger toms and queens shouted in jubilation, shoving each other into puddles and rolling in the dew. Exotica lounged on top of the oven, watching them with palpable amusement; and also, Demeter suspected, keeping watch for Teazer and Admetus. Even Skimbleshanks, home from the railroad, had gotten into the spirit; he could be found high up a flowering tree, shaking the branches to shower his mate in dewdrops and flower petals.

Ah, spring fever…Demeter grinned, slipping into a hunting crouch and pouncing playfully on a scrap of water balloon. She batted it around for a few moments before a familiar voice caught her attention.

Demeter's ear twitched and she sat up, looking around. Jemima was supposed to be at her owners' house, but there really couldn't be anyone else with that voice…

"HEEEEEELP!" Coricopat bolted past Demeter, eyes wild, paws scrabbling at the wet cobblestones. Admetus followed hot on his tail, eyes fierce with concentration as he lobbed a hot pink water balloon after the dark tom. A yowl from behind a pile of tires and a cheer from Rumpleteazer confirmed that Admetus' aim was true.

Demeter shook her head, swiveling her ears back toward the quiet sound of singing.

Following the voice, Demeter found herself peering around a stack of tires at her daughter. Jemima did seem to be all right; she was watering a clump of wildflowers poking through the flagstones, singing to herself as she performed a few absent-minded dance steps.

It was with a bit of a jolt that Demeter recognized the object in Jemima's paws. It was dented and rusty, but still seemed to retain a sort of sparkling glow: the watering can Mistoffolees had handed her over a year ago, at her first Jellicle Ball. Everyone had seen the ecstatic smile on the then-kitten's face when she got to be included in the exciting conjurer's act, but Demeter had never realized she'd kept the can.

Something clicked in the back of Demeter's mind, and her fur stood on end. Suddenly, Jemima's anger at being told off for spending the night at Quaxo's, her defensiveness whenever Demeter expressed a distrust towards the young tom's powers, made perfect, terrible sense.

History, Demeter realized with profound dread, was repeating itself. Her daughter was falling for a conjurer.


	4. Falling

_Wednesday Prompt: We are never so happy nor so unhappy as we imagine._

**Falling**

Jemima's Wednesday was not off to a very good start.

From the moment she woke up, she knew it was going to be one of _those_ days. She liked waking up to the sound of birds singing, or the smell of mouse-cakes drifting over from Jenny's den, or even being tackled by Electra, whose den she shared, if Electra was feeling unusually chipper.

Being woken up by the ceiling of the den caving in and drenching her with frigid water, however, was not on that list.

"EVERLASTING-!" She spluttered, fur standing on end. This was a prominent downside to being a new queen. Most of the time, she loved sharing a den with Electra. She didn't have to sleep all by herself in a strange den, it had given her a chance to get to know her half-sister better, and Electra was _much _more fun to live with than Munkustrap and Demeter.

However, unlike the older cats who had lived in their dens for years, theirs was still in the rough stage. Aside from Jemima's watering can and the gutted throw pillow that served as a nest, there were no real furnishings in the cardboard box, and it had yet to settle into a state of either permanent clutter (like Jerrie and Teazer's den) or well-lived organization like Jenny and Skimbleshanks', hanging instead with an awkward half-finished look.

More to the point, it had yet to be waterproofed.

Electra struggled out of the soaked cotton filling alongside her sister, muttering under her breath. "Rain," she muttered. "Water." After scowling darkly at the soggy cardboard surrounding them, she turned her glare briefly on Jemima before stalking out, mumbling "Food."

Jemima, who had by now become very familiar with Electra's morning routine, decided to make herself scarce until her older sister had gotten something to eat. She was fond of her limbs.

Things didn't seem much better outside the den, nor were they any less wet. A mild drizzle was falling; not heavy enough to justify keeping inside, but heavy enough to be depressing. Tugger was nowhere to be seen, but that surprised no one; he never got his mane wet unless someone's life was in the balance, and even then they'd better have a damn good reason for getting themselves into danger. Normally, the thought would have made Jemima laugh, but today it just lowered her already damp spirits. At least Tugger was fun. With him at his owners' and the twins back in Victoria Grove, there would be no source of comic relief toda-

"GANGWAY!"

There was a sound like a waterfall, and Pouncival slid magnificently down a discarded length of gutter, sending up dramatic rooster tails on each side. One of these fans of water crashed over Jemima's head, soaking her again.

"Pounce!" Etcetera scolded, the effect ruined by her shriek of laughter. "You got Jemima all wet!"

"Sorry, Jem!" he called back, leaping out of the gutter and shaking himself vigorously.

"That was pathetic!" called Tumblebrutus from the top of the gutter pipe. "You call that a slide?"

Pouncival puffed out his chest challengingly. "Let's see you do better," he dared the brown tom.

Tumble met the challenge with gusto, skidding down the gutter on all fours and sending sheets of rainwater scattering in every direction, including Jemima's. She stood hastily and hurried away from the gutter, beginning to wonder if it was possible to drown on dry land.

"Why are you always wet, I wonder?" asked a wonderfully familiar voice. Seemingly out of nowhere, as usual, Quaxo appeared just above Jemima's head, curled in the remnants of a milk crate. "Good morning, by the way," he added politely as he slid down with impossible grace, falling into step beside her.

"Good morning, Misto. How are you _not_ wet?" she demanded, poking his perfectly dry shoulder.

He winked, curling his tail around the shivering queen. "Like this," he whispered with a grin, breath tickling her whiskers. A rush of warmth ran over Jemima's fur, and she blushed deeply before realizing what the heat had been; her fur was not only dry, it was warm and fluffy.

"Wow," she said in pleased surprise. "You're getting really good!"

Misto looked proud and embarrassed at the same time. "That's nothing, really," he said. "It's just a little spell Tantomile found during the winter, when the whole Junkyard was covered in slush."

Jemima hugged herself and purred happily, reveling in the comfort. "It's amazing," she disagreed.

Quaxo's ears flicked happily. "Want to do something today?" he asked. "We could go down to the river." He lowered his voice and said dramatically, "It's said that the ghost of Growltiger still haunts the docks on…What day is it?"

"Wednesday," Jemima replied, trying to play along and not let her goofy grin spread any further.

"Drat," Quaxo said casually. "Growltiger only haunts the docks on Tuesdays and every other Thursday." Jemima giggled, and he ruffled her headfur affectionately. He was careful not to pull it—not like Pouncival and Tumblebrutus did sometimes. "Well, we could catch a fish for Jenny, then."

Jemima was intrigued. "I've never done that before!" she said. "Is it hard?"

"I don't know," Quaxo replied honestly, letting golden sparks dance around his paw. "I cheat."

"Ah, the two words every young queen wants to hear," said a cutting voice. Jemima jumped, trying not to look defensive when she saw Demeter and Bombalurina resting in the oven, out of the rain.

Misto looked taken aback. "I just meant…I use magic," he tried to explain.

Demeter's eyes were harder and colder than ice. "Of course," she said frostily. "I'm well aware. Quite adept at it, too. It wouldn't surprise me if you could manage hypnosis by now."

Quaxo looked thoughtful. "Now, there's an idea," he mused. "I could try hypnotizing the fish…that would make it a lot easier…"

Demeter rose slowly. "What did you say?" she said in a deadly quiet voice. "Something about using your powers to lure innocent creatures to their deaths, was it? And you do this on a regular basis?" Quaxo's eyes widened and he shook his head frantically as he realized what she meant.

"No! That's not what I…it was just a thought, you suggested it!" he exclaimed, trying frantically to backtrack. "I've never even _tried_ hypnosis! And I'd _never_ use it on another Jellicle!"

"Mother," Jemima whispered, ears folding slowly along her head. The look in Demeter's eyes was scaring her. "It's just fishing. That's all. It's not what you're think-"

"Quiet." Bombalurina silenced her niece with a single word and a warning glance.

Demeter took a single step out of the oven, and Quaxo cowered, eyes wide in terror. "Do you know who else used to like using his powers on his prey?" she whispered. "He would force mice to fight each other to the death, and once he did the same thing to a pair of innocent queens, to teach another queen a lesson. He made them tear each other to shreds right before her eyes and said he would do the same to her and her sister, if they didn't behave."

"I would _never_," Quaxo breathed fervently. "I swear. We were just trying to have a little fun..."

The minute he said the words, Jemima knew he'd said the wrong thing. A flash of true terror went through Demeter's eyes, before being replaced by a hard, blazing fury.

"A bit of fun," she hissed dangerously. "I've heard that before. I've heard that far too many times before. The cruelest, most evil things I have ever witnessed were done by a tom who was just having a bit of _fun_."

"Mother. Please!" Jemima begged, wanting to stand between the two cats but not daring to move. "You're overreacting, please-"

"Quiet Jemima," Bombalurina said harshly. "This has gone too far."

Demeter ignored them both, standing over Macavity's son with a murderous expression. "I wanted you to be different," she hissed, lip curling in disgust. "I wanted you to be your mother's son. But I should have known it years ago; you're your father through and through."

"He's _not!"_ Jemima cried. She leapt to her paws, unable to keep silent any longer. Quaxo sent her a look of unspeakable gratitude, but shook his head once.

_Don't,_his look said sadly. _Let it go._


	5. Accountability

_Thursday Prompt: End with quote "You had it coming."_

**Accountability**

Demeter dug her nails into the old wood, leaving three deep scores. She'd acted for the best; she knew she had. Jemima…she would understand. Someday, she would understand. It had hurt Demeter just as much as it had hurt her daughter, realizing what Mistoffolees was becoming, but she couldn't ignore the signs just because Macavity's son was less obviously evil than his father. How could she ever have forgiven herself, if one day Jemima became the first victim of a new crime lord, because once again those who knew better had ignored the signs?

Of course, warning him off hadn't exactly worked the way she'd thought it would. She had expected Jemima to open her eyes, to see the similarities, the danger she was in. She had expected her to be mature enough to understand that.

She had, apparently, expected too much. Jemima retained a stubborn kittenish defiance, and Demeter was worried that it would blind her further to Mistoffolees' growing power, his dark potential. They were sure to be more secretive, now, and if that was the case Demeter might not see any more warning signs until it was too late. And if he wanted Jemima the way Macavity had wanted her, the young queen might very well be too afraid to ask for help…if she wasn't too proud to admit she needed it.

Demeter shook herself. It was enough that Jemima was safe for now. The black-and-gold queen tried to console herself with that knowledge. Victoria assured her that Jem had made it safely back to Electra's den, and she trusted Electra to protect her little sister. With Munkustrap out on his night patrol, an inexperienced conjurer wouldn't risk anything tonight, and once Munk came back she could tell him about her concerns. She knew _he_ would believe her; or at the very least, he would remember what she said and keep an eye out himself. Jemima would be safe.

"You're an ass. You know that, right?"

Demeter's fur prickled as she recognized the voice. "I thought you were supposed to be at your owners' house, grooming yourself," she snapped as the Rum Tum Tugger swaggered up to her resting place, setting himself down across from her with no indication that he would be leaving her in peace or jumping off a bridge anytime soon.

"I was," he sneered. "But then who should turn up but the Magical Mr. Mistoffelees, with a very interesting story to tell."

Demeter narrowed her eyes. "I know what he told you," she replied curtly. "But if he made it seem like I was overreacting, I would ask how well _you_ knew Macavity."

"I may not know Macavity too well, sweetheart, but I sure as Heaviside know Misto, and if you think he's anything like his father you've been hitting the 'nip a little too hard."

"I know perfectly well what I saw."

Tugger unsheathed his claws angrily. "So do I," he hissed. "You saw a young tom trying to impress the queen he's been in love with for years! All toms are idiots at Misto's age. Even Munk was an idiot at Misto's age! Even—and I know this is all but impossible to believe," he assured her, leaning in conspirationally, "but even _I_ was an idiot at Misto's age."

"Pull the other one," Demeter said drily.

Tugger studied her face, and his normally teasing eyes hardened. "You know something, Demeter," he said slowly, "I don't think this is about Misto at all. I think you just don't like seeing a smile on a face that looks like yours."

Demeter stiffened. "I don't know what you mean."

"I'm sure you don't," Tugger continued, eyes dark and unusually serious. "Let me spell it out for you. Jemima _isn't you_. She's not paranoid, or skittish, and she's certainly not jaded. She was wise—yes, Demeter, that little kitten you think is helpless was _wise_ enough to embrace Grizabella while everyone else shunned her. You and me are included in that, sweetheart, and so is my brother." Demeter twitched at the unwanted endearment. Tugger ignored her. "And the only thing old Griz ever did wrong was want a different life when she was young and foolish." He bared his teeth slightly. "If someone like Munk can arch his back at _her_ so easily, don't you think Misto can hate Macavity for all the things he's done? Or do you think it's easy for a kitten to see his mother die? The poor kid's only family besides Victoria is an uncle who doesn't know what to do with him."

"You didn't hear him today," Demeter said. "You don't know what you're talking about. Or what he's capable of."

"Oh," Tugger sneered, "I think I do. You think you're the only one with eyes? As for what he's capable of, when you can look my in the eyes and say you've never toyed with a mouse before you killed it, then you can tell me that hypnotizing fish closer to shore to teach queen to catch them is a sign of pure evil."

"_I know what I saw."_ Demeter leapt to her feet. "Stop acting like this is about spite. You think I _enjoy _breaking my daughter's heart? I'm trying to protect her!"

"Yeah," he said sourly, "Which is all you ever do." He stood as well, towering over the shorter queen. "All you've ever done for her is make her see Pollicles behind every tire. I'm still amazed growing up with you didn't make her so scared of her own shadow that she never came out of the den! Have you ever made her smile the way she did when Misto handed her that watering can? Have you ever made her laugh the way she does when she's with him? My niece never got to be a kitten, Demeter, and I'm not letting you stop her from being a queen. She's the happiest she's ever been, and you're not ruining it for her."

Demeter bristled. "Stop making this about Jemima. I am trying to _p__rotect her."_

Tugger took a step forward, forcing her back. "She doesn't need or want your protection! Jemima's been smarter than most of us since her eyes opened; she's not some starry-eyed kit who can't see past her own whiskers! And Misto's on his way to becoming the most powerful conjurer in living memory. You don't think he's able to keep her safe?"

"He's able to do a lot more than _keep her safe_," Demeter hissed. "I know. I've been there."

"Yeah, we know," Tugger said, rolling his eyes as he took another step forward. Demeter moved back further, bumping into a stack of tires. "Poor fragile Demeter, we can't upset her! She's been through hell!" he said mockingly.

"Don't you _dare_ make that into a joke, Tugger. Don't you _dare._ You have no idea-"

"I'm not saying I do. I'm saying it doesn't give you the right to make sure everyone else is as miserable as you were! You can't stand Jemima to be happy—really, truly happy with a tom who loves her, because you don't think it should be that easy," the Maine Coon spat aggressively. "Well, not everyone has to go through hell to find someone who cares!" After a charged cluster of heartbeats, he lowered his hackles and took a step back. "You want to know something?" he said in a more measured tone. "I'm happy for you. I really am. I look at you and Bomba, and it makes me proud. Nobody should suffer the way you did and not get a happy ending. But that's exactly the point." His voice was low, intense, fervent—everything that she _didn't_ associate with the Rum Tum Tugger, and it had the disconcerting effect of making her think about what he was saying.

It was almost like…he meant every word.

"You're safe now, Demeter, you got your happy ending, and you're still acting like you're living a nightmare. You have a whole future—and if you ever listen to me about anything, listen to me now. It's time to _let go_. He loves her, she loves him, and there's no doing _anything _about that, so you'd better accept it. Stop forcing your past into your present and let Jemima live the life she deserves, because if you don't, I will never forgive you for it, _they _will never forgive you for it, and I doubt you'll ever forgive yourself, either."

He stepped back, giving her room to breathe, but Demeter stood frozen. Normally, she would have shrugged off anything Tugger said, but this…maybe it was the deadly seriousness in his eyes, or his sudden eloquence, but for some reason she found she couldn't ignore his passionate speech, couldn't even resent it.

_Maybe,_ said something deep in her heart, _it's because you know he's right._

"Sorry, Dem," Tugger said coldly, turning to walk off. "But you had it coming."


	6. Redemption

_Friday Prompt: Spark Word "Spring"_

**Redemption**

"Good morning, Misto."

Jemima's voice was, perhaps, slightly more forceful than was strictly necessary for a casual greeting. It rang across the main clearing, jerking a drowsy black tom out of his daze. Kept up by worries and regrets, torn between anger and hurt, he hadn't gotten any sleep the night before.

Jemima strode past the oven, tail held defiantly high, pointedly not making eye contact with her mother. Demeter's cool green eyes bored into her daughter with a strange intensity, but whether Jemima was unaware of this or simply didn't care was unclear. The look in the golden tabby's eyes wasn't the chilling hostility that had been there before. Rather it was…calculating, perhaps? No, that wasn't right…but whatever the look was, the level of concentration was highly disconcerting. With a Herculean effort, Quaxo managed not to meet Demeter's gaze, focusing instead on her daughter. As usual, once his eyes found Jemima, he couldn't look away.

"Are you all right?" he asked, looking the young queen over with concern. "Vic told me about last night."

"I'm fine," Jemima said, lowering her eyes to study the crumbling flagstones. "She'll have to come around eventually."

"Are we talking about the same queen?" Quaxo smiled slightly, but it was a clear struggle.

Jemima lifted her head proudly and looked the young conjurer in the eyes. "She's just going to have to accept it," she said firmly, "because I'm not going anywhere." A sudden misgiving filled her eyes. "Unless you want me to, I mean. So you could find a queen whose mother _doesn't _think you're evil incarnate."

"In-laws always hate each other," Quaxo replied easily. "She's just keeping up an ancient and noble tradition."

Jemima grinned shyly. "In-laws?" she said, trying to contain the impossibly wide smile that was spreading across her kittenish face.

Quaxo twitched his tail over her paw. "Someday," he promised, for once without a trace of mischief in his voice. "I hope." His doubts had been washed swiftly away by her presence. He had come to a single conclusion when she declared her intention to stay: He loved her, fully and completely. Whatever the consequences, he would brave a thousand angry Demeters (or maybe just two—yes, that was scary enough) to have her with him as long as she wanted to be there.

Jemima could see that conclusion in his eyes. Abandoning her fight for solemnity, she flung her arms around his neck and buried her face in his fur, purring so hard Quaxo was afraid her chest might burst.

* * *

"They're so sweet together," cooed Bombalurina, slipping through the rusted hole in the back of Demeter's oven.

Demeter twitched her ear in irritation. "He's too dangerous for her, Bomba."

"Do you really see that strong a resemblance?" asked the scarlet queen doubtfully.

"I thought you were on my side!" Demeter exclaimed, tearing her eyes away from the young couple cuddling in the shadow of the old sewer pipe. "You backed me up yesterday."

Bomba sighed, putting an arm around her sister and pulling her close. "I trust your judgment, Dem," she assured her, "And you know I want to keep Jemima safe. But I'm trying to see what you see, and….I'm just not. All I'm seeing here is my favorite niece falling in love."

"Electra will be crushed."

"Oh, shut up, Dem. You know what I meant."

* * *

"You know," Jemima said after a while, "We never did get to go fishing."

Quaxo cocked an eyebrow. "You're trying to get me killed, is that it?"

Jemima sat up primly. "I'm accepting your invitation. A gentle-tom mustn't rescind an invitation to a lady. Really, Quaxo! Has your uncle taught you nothing?" There was a teasing sparkle in her eyes.

"My uncle _has_ educated me in the many pointless trivialities of _the proper etiquette of a London gentletom,_" Quaxo admitted, saying the last part of the sentence in a very accurate impression of his uncle's stuffy demeanor. "But I would point out that there is nothing in the High Society Rule Book about avoiding assassination attempts by your date's mother."

Jemima thought about this. "What is that book good for, again?" she asked politely.

"Absolutely nothing," Quaxo replied impishly, taking her paw and whisking them both away in a shower of golden sparks.

"There you are!"

Demeter's thoughts were pulled immediately out of their darker paths at the sound of the affectionate warmth in Munkustrap's voice. "I've been looking all over for you!" he exclaimed, nuzzling her cheek fiercely. "I thought you'd be at your humans'."

"I was going to," she answered distractedly, glancing over at where Jemima and Quaxo had vanished. "I was just…"

Munkustrap studied her face. "…worried about Jemima?" he supplied. She nodded helplessly.

"I'm trying to be fair, Munkustrap, but I can't help it!" she whispered, pressing into his solid, comforting side, where she was safe. "I want what's best for her…"

"…but you don't know what that is," he finished.

She looked up gratefully. "You know me too well."

Munkustrap pressed a quiet kiss to her forehead. "Do you want my advice?" he asked, stroking her headfur absently. She nodded. "If you can't trust Misto completely, trust Jemima. She's been right before, when we were wrong." Demeter felt a stab of guilt at another mention of Grizabella. Maybe Munkustrap…and, much as she hated to admit it, his brother…were right. Maybe Quaxo was just another lost child looking for a home. Maybe Jemima, once again, was the only one who was brave enough to reach out and offer him a lifeline.

Maybe, she thought with a new lightness in her heart, it was time for a leap of faith.

"This time," Jemima said determinedly, frowning in concentration as she observed the rippling water. "This time for sure."

In a truly heroic example of self-control, Quaxo didn't laugh. "Definitely," he said, stretching out on his rock.

A small fish, barely more than a minnow, darted past Jemima's fishing spot. With an excited yowl, she sprang at the silvery shape. There was a monumental splash as she landed in the river; the wall of water mysteriously parted around the tuxedo tom watching her. When she came up again, she looked crestfallen. "I was _this close!"_ she exclaimed.

Quaxo scooped her escaped guppy onto his rock, decided it really wasn't worth more than a mouthful, and tossed it discreetly back. "Are you sure you don't want help?" he asked.

"No," Jemima said firmly, "I want to do it myself."

"If you insist." The conjuring cat swished his tail casually, and Jemima's fur dried itself.

"I don't know why you bother doing that," said a cautiously amused voice from behind him. "She's just going to get wet again."

Fur standing on end, Quaxo leapt to his feet. "Demeter!" he stammered. "I…Well, it's cold out, and I don't want her to catch a chill, and normally I don't cast spells on anybody but myself in case they go wrong, but that's a really safe spell, and Tantomile and Coricopat said there's no chance of losing control of it, so-"

"Breathe, Misto," said Jemima, looking concernedly at the young tom. "I'm not giving you mouth-to-mouth if you pass out."

"Love you too," he muttered out the corner of his mouth, and she blushed, sitting down rather abruptly.

"Don't let me interrupt," Demeter said politely. There was still tension in her voice, but it was slightly less hostile, as if she were making a conscious effort to be friendly. "I just wanted to tell you something."

Quaxo's fur prickled and he swallowed visibly before nodding for her to go on.

Demeter's eyes flicked between Quaxo and Jemima, and she seemed to take in for the first time the way their bodies angled towards one another. He had unconsciously taken up a subtle protective stance, as if to shield Jemima from the slightest danger of any negative emotion aimed her way. Jemima had placed a slim paw over Quaxo's tail where it dangled off the rock, an unspoken, instinctive gesture of support and unity.

They fit so unquestionably well together, were so obviously where they belonged, that all of Demeter's well-rehearsed lines, her little speech about her tentative trust, warnings not to let her down, a willingness to let the conjurer prove himself, evaporated. There was really only one thing she could say.

"Take care of her," she whispered.

Quaxo nodded solemnly, drawing Jemima up out of the water to perch beside him.

"I will."


	7. Contrast

_Saturday Prompt: Spark Word "Colored Glass"_

**Contrast**

A flash of lightning lit the Junkyard in violent contrast for a split second, the moment of blinding illumination followed closely by a deafening crash of thunder, echoing in pitch blackness. Rain lashed the streets. Wind whistled and shrieked like a hawk, whipping around corners and through the eclectic collection of broken household items.

Munkustrap curled his tail comfortingly around Demeter's flank, squeezing her gently.

"You all right?" he whispered in her ear. She nodded, resting her head on his shoulder and cuddling closer to his side. For some time, they simply watched the storm together. Every so often, a particularly loud explosion of sound would cause her to jump, but Munkustrap would tighten his grip around her, ever so slightly, just to remind her that he was there, and it would be more than enough to banish the fear. Finally, her eyes began to drift closed.

Moments before Demeter was finally about to fall into the arms of badly needed sleep, Munkustrap shifted. Looking up at him blearily, Demeter frowned.

"Mmm?" she mumbled.

Munkustrap squinted through the rain. "I'm not quite sure…" he murmured. Looking down at Demeter, he asked, "You wouldn't happen to have the time, would you?"

"'m not Sk'mbleshanks…" she replied, blinking rapidly to try to clear the sleep from her eyes. "Around midnight?"

"That's what I thought," Munkustrap said, frowning out the entrance to their den. Almost to himself, he muttered, "What in Heaviside are they up to?"

Demeter sighed, closing her eyes again. "Munk," she said firmly, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him down next to her. "Forget it, and go to sleep."

"Dem, I really think I should go find out-"

She silenced him with a Look. She was very good at those, especially when her sleep was being imposed upon. "If the twins want to go and cause havoc in the middle of a thunderstorm, let them," she instructed her mate sternly. "Maybe they'll catch pneumonia and we can all have a bit of peace."

Munkustrap chuckled, brushing a strand of fur out of his mate's eyes. "I don't think even the twins would go out in this," he said, as another crackling bolt of lightning split the sky and a roll of thunder boomed its approval.

Demeter frowned. "If it's not the twins, then who…?"

In a temporary lull, she heard a familiar, if slightly breathless, laugh. "Misto!" Jemima's faint call came from the courtyard. "Where are we going?" An even fainter laugh reached Demeter's ears. She couldn't hear what the tom replied, but it made Jemima laugh again.

Bolting to her feet, Demeter looked wildly out over the rain-lashed Junkyard. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her initial fears beginning to overshadow the tentative trust that had been building since that afternoon by the stream. She could see it too clearly in her mind's eye: a powerful magician, with nothing to fear from the storm, leading his willing victim away from safety and security, stealing her out from under her family's watchful eyes with a violent storm as cover…

If this was a kidnapping attempt, however, Quaxo didn't seem to be going very far. He had paused next to the Great Tire to help a thoroughly waterlogged Jemima climb onto the rubber, slick and treacherous with rain. She seemed to be having trouble, clutching something shiny in one paw.

As Demeter watched, the conjurer boosted her onto the Tire, then leaped up himself and raised a forepaw. He moved it in a complicated, deliberate pattern, lips forming an inaudible spell. Even from her den, Demeter could see the look of intense concentration on his face. Jemima pressed against his dark pelt, water dripping from her fur as she squinted against the water pelting her face, wide eyes alight with curiosity and an exhilarated smile on her face. That in itself struck Demeter as odd; Jemima usually hated thunderstorms.

_Or is that just you?_ whispered a voice in the back of her mind, one that sounded disturbingly like the Tugger. _She's braver than you give her credit for._

Gradually, the purpose of Misto's spell became clear. With a slow, steady purpose, the clouds above his head parted in a perfect circle, letting the light of a waning moon shine through.

Jemima seemed transported, transformed by the power of the moment, and Demeter knew that the expression of awe on her daughter's face must be reflected on her own. The rain continued to pound the Junkyard, but the two young lovers on top of the Great Tire were sheltered from the storm by their single moonbeam, a silver column of peace in the center of howling wind and stinging rain. Quaxo said something to Jemima, who nodded eagerly and held out the shiny object she had been holding in her paw. At his instruction, she held it up.

Silver moonlight glinted off the prism, flashing like a fallen star. Then Jemima tilted the carved glass, throwing the beam of light into the rain.

The Junkyard was suddenly bathed in an ethereal, otherworldly pattern of shifting, flickering light. Some places were splashed with deep purple, others glinted red for a split second before the wind rearranged the raindrops, flinging the delicate patch of color in another direction.

Demeter, watching, rested her head on Munkustrap's chest, wondering whether the wetness on her cheeks was caused by rain or tears. There could not possibly have been a more striking way to end a week of rainy days than this; a rainbow in the eye of a tempest; storm and silence, light and dark, mixing and melding to create something of such potent beauty that it was almost unbearable.


End file.
